Outside a renovated building in Lowertown Saint Paul,
two yellow-bellied sapsuckers
lay lifeless on the ground.
They were perfect in death,
dignified and dapper,
sporting blackest black and whitest white
checked and striped jackets,
topped by fiery red crowns upon their heads.
I could see but a trace of yellow
and wondered if a brush of sap
on their spotted bellies
might flash a brighter color in flight.
They looked like Fabergé jeweled miniatures
lying on the sidewalk
opposite the Farmers’ Market,
one on the damp gray concrete
the other on a metal grate
ringing a bare city tree.
A morning mist magnified their radiance.
I could see no mar on their bodies.
A stopping passerby speculated
the birds succumbed to toxins
sprayed on old buildings
to poison nests of pigeons.
Poem: ANDREA E. JOHNSON grew up in West Saint Paul. She earned bachelors degrees in piano and nursing at the University of Minnesota and an M.Ed. degree from the University of St. Thomas. After a long career, primarily in public health, she picked up writing poetry again. She lives in Lake Elmo.
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